Title: If I Should Die
Author: .
Word count: 541
Rating: T
Summary: A series of lives, a series of deaths.
I made up Wilma, because I felt that there needed to be a starting point. I'm not sure about it, but I think the story flows better with a first victim of sorts. Let me know what you think? After this, it's going to be characters from the books.
Wilma McIntire bounces up and down in her seat as she peers out the kitchen window. Today the results of her OWL examinations are arriving, funnily enough, by owl. Wilma, while not a particularly brilliant student, feels confident of her performance. If she gets enough OWLs, maybe her dad will buy her that new broom she had her eye on. Maybe her mom would buy her those new dress robes she loves so much. Wilma crosses her fingers under the table, wishing for luck.
Soon enough, the gray and white owl flies in through the window. It takes Wilma what feels like an eternity to untie the parchment from its leg. Wilma breaks out into a smile. She got A's in everything except, well, History of Magic, but she expected that anyway. She even got an E in Transfiguration! This was the best she had ever done.
Happily, she rushes into the sitting room, barely believing her eyes. Her mother and father are there, along with her older sister, who is waving around a piece of parchment almost identical to the one Wilma is clutching in her palm. "Four NEWTs!" She exclaims. "Two of them are even O's!"
Wilma's face crumples. Four NEWTs are more than Wilma could ever hope for. She couldn't even imagine two O's. She can't compare to her older sister. She's never been able to. She's not dumb, by any means, but her sister is just smarter.
And she's just…Wilma.
…ifishoulddie…
Wilma McIntire is the first one, the first victim. It's very quiet, very quick, very easy. She's sitting in a tavern, some obscure place off Knockturn Alley, that was closed not long after Wilma was murdered.
After several sips of her firewhiskey, she is still not feeling any results. Angerly, she downs the last bit, and stands up to leave. She slams her empty bottle on the table, and the bartender looks up but doesn't say anything. Not worth the effort.
She leaves, grabbing her coat off the back of her chair. Another day wasted. Another day and nothing to show for it. But what else is new?
Two steps out the door, and Wilma knows something is wrong. The alley is just as crowded as usual, but there was a different air about it, a colder air. A tall man with a peculiar coat leans against a wall in between two buildings, out of the way of the crowd. Wilma doesn't know the man, but for some reason she feels drawn to him. Warily, at first, she steps towards him, hand wrapped around the wand hidden in her pocket.
"Hello," he greets her, smiling with the strangest smile Wilma has ever seen. Before Wilma knows what is happening, he has pulled out his wand and killed her. It was the killing curse, quick and easy. Wilma never has a chance to defend herself.
It is an unremarkable death, and weeks later there are still no leads. No one would ever connect Wilma's death to Lord Voldemort, not even Wilma herself. It will be years before anyone even knows who he is.
As she lay dead in the alley, Wilma is just a nameless body.
…ifishoulddie…
Her life was nothing special, her death was nothing special.